Take-Backs
by orangeflavor
Summary: "Kolyat stares at the necklace for a long moment, and Oriana begins to worry that he might just strangle her with it, but then he's reaching out an expectant palm. 'Give it here.' She pulls it protectively against her chest. 'No. You gave it to me.'" - Kolyat and Oriana. The perils of gift-giving.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Another tumblr prompt fic. This one was for any couple of my choosing, with the prompt of giving a gift out of the blue. And, well, I adore these little shits. So here you go.

Take-Backs

" _Kolyat stares at the necklace for a long moment, and Oriana begins to worry that he might just strangle her with it, but then he's reaching out an expectant palm. 'Give it here.' She pulls it protectively against her chest. 'No. You gave it to me.'"_ \- Kolyat and Oriana. The perils of gift-giving.

"Here."

Oriana looks down at the small parcel he holds out to her. It's a box, cupped in his teal palm, wrapped rather messily in brown paper. She glances up at Kolyat, a confused look on her face. "What is it?" she asks.

He sighs, stretching his hand out closer to her. "What does it look like?"

She blinks down at the package once more. "Like a box," she deadpans.

Kolyat releases a low growl and grabs for her hand, shoving the parcel into it. "It's called a gift, you moron."

Her head snaps up at that. "It's called _I know_ , you ass."

Kolyat's lips purse and his brows lower over annoyed eyes but he makes no move to antagonize her further. Instead, he drops his hands from hers and crosses his arms over his chest, watching expectantly.

Oriana cradles the gift in her hands and peeks around the paper wrapping.

"Will you just open it?" he asks impatiently.

She rolls her eyes, but starts to peel apart the wrapping. Inside is a smooth white box that she pops open to reveal a thin silver chain with a charm dangling from the center. She pulls the necklace out of the box and holds it to the light. A slow smile breaks across her face, and then it drops, only minutely, mostly out of confusion, just as her brows furrow.

"What's wrong?" he asks nervously, arms still crossed.

She sets the box down on the table beside them and cradles the charm in her free hand. "It's a cello."

"What? No."

She raises a brow his way.

He points accusingly at the necklace in her hand. "It's a violin."

She tries to keep the smirk from crossing her features but it tugs relentlessly. "It's a cello, babe."

He scowls at her. "I think I'd know a violin by now. You play it often enough."

She holds the charm up and points to the bottom of the miniature instrument. "See that? That's an endpin. It's most definitely a cello."

Kolyat stares at the necklace for a long moment, and Oriana begins to worry that he might just strangle her with it, but then he's reaching out an expectant palm. "Give it here."

She pulls it protectively against her chest. "No. You gave it to me."

"Which means I can take it back."

"You can't take back a gift!"

"Of course I can. I paid for it." He curls his fingers in an impatient beckon.

Her mouth dips into a frown. "Don't be rude," she admonishes softly, her hands curling tighter around the charm, suddenly possessive. She stares down at the floor and tries to understand the unexpected wave of dejection that floods her upon his demand to return it. She can hear him sigh and chances a look back up at him.

He is staring off along the wall, arms crossed again. His scowl is gone, a look of disinterest replacing it. "Fine. Keep it."

She didn't think such a sour statement could make her so happy.

His gaze flits back to hers. "It's not what I intended," he offers up in explanation.

Her fingers curl around the silver chain held to her chest. "I don't care. I still want it."

"Why?"

"Because you gave it to me."

He answers with an indifferent "Hn" and then pockets his hands.

She smiles brilliantly at him. "What's the occasion?" She turns around and opens the clasp of the necklace to wind around her neck, handing off the ends of the open chain into his waiting hands to finish clasping it, both moving instinctually and without direction. She holds her short hair up out of his way and can feel the warm puff of his breath on the back of her neck as he leans closer to close the chain.

"There is none," he answers succinctly.

"Then what made you do it?"

She imagines the shrug that accompanies his coming words. "I saw it in a store and…thought of you." The latch locks and his fingers spread over the nape of her neck for an instant, before gliding out over her shoulders and then falling back to his sides.

She turns back to him with an impish grin. "You think about me?"

"Of course."

It is such a weightless, natural statement that she has to blink in surprise at his openness a moment before collecting herself. And then her smirk turns playful. "How often?" she presses.

His hands find their way into his pockets once more, his gaze landing back on the wall. "Often enough," he mutters, and she swears she sees the tint of his red-scaled neck darken.

She watches him squirm beneath her knowing eyes until he drags his gaze back to hers with a note of annoyance. "Mostly it's about ways I can ditch you," he says.

"Uh huh." Her smile widens.

He scowls at her, hands digging deeper into his pockets. "Stop it."

Her hand comes up to finger the charm laying against her neck as she watches him with appreciative eyes.

He turns abruptly. "I'm hungry. Let's go."

She snatches the edge of his sleeve and halts him.

He looks down at her, face blank. "What?"

She presses a hand to his chest and rises up on her toes, brushing her lips against his cool, teal cheek and then dropping back down again, her other hand still gripping his sleeve as he stands half-turned from her. "Thank you," she whispers to him, eyes crinkling with her smile.

He grunts his acknowledgement, gaze averted.

She releases his sleeve and rocks back on her heels once, twice, watching him with a knowing smile.

Several moments of silence breathe between them, him watching the wall and her watching him. Oriana feels something flutter deep in her gut when his hand suddenly reaches for hers and locks around it. He tugs her along.

"Come on," he says, voice still sour, lips still frowning.

She follows him along, smiling secretly, eyes fixed to the back of his head.

His heart is a gift laid like a thin chain against her breast.

There are no take-backs.


End file.
